Tout Périt
by Stfu
Summary: ℓ "Did you happen to forget to prepare breakfast for the unfortunate, starving lady seated directly behind you?" It's this type of woman that never fails to butcher his mood — ch3 ℓ A sadistic bishop and an arrogant gypsy fall in love as Paris perishes.
1. I

— to Eli.

ρ r _o_ ℓ _o _q υ ε

* * *

><p><strong>Petit Palais, Paris<strong>**  
>10:10 P.M.<strong>

* * *

><p>He stumbles through a vaulted entry of the grand museum's underground passageways, eying with a narcotic gaze the eerie frames of art nailed to the charcoal walls. The archaic Delacroix is the last painting on his list, as well as the hardest to find. The wounded bandit calculates; the traps he had installed upstairs would only stall pursuers for four minutes, five at best.<p>

Muttering curses under uneasy exhalation, the male pressures his leg with a moist handkerchief, and continues to stagger on with a cold bloodstained hand yearning for support from the walls. It's growing colder and dimmer, blurring the thief's vision as well as consciousness. But soon, as if the sinner's prayers were answered, the masterpiece emerges. He feels his eyes flicker awake upon seeing the phenomena hanging before him and nearly forgets to breath.

"My sanctuary."

After retrieving a pair of gloves and screwdriver from his pocket, his trembling fingers remove the Delacroix piece from its imprisonment on the wall, wasting not a second before touching the work's wondrous texture and colors. He loses himself in admiration for a second too long. Nearby, a metal gate is destroyed, allowing full entrance to the black chamber. In chilling response, the marmoreal floor echoes, and a few miles off, an alarm is triggered.

"Good evening." The curator makes no effort to mask his sharp footsteps. "Nuumi," he murmurs, "is one of your many pseudonyms, is it not?"

The pilferer neither acknowledges the greeting nor the question concerning his infamous codename, and remains with his back facing his accompaniment. Concluding that the voice is approximately twenty feet away, he positions his screwdriver's hidden mirror at a precise angle, and scowls when only a palimpsestic silhouette is reflected. The man inwardly reminds himself to devise a better gadget after his escape tonight, and then expertly flips out a rusted dagger with dreadful silence.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The painting falls to the floor. He whips his head around and stares intently. His opponent looks uselessly frail, but tall and smirking. Foolish arrogance at its best. With a sad smile, Nuumi lunges forward.

"I warned you."

A man presses into the other.

"Did you not hear correctly?"

Nuumi feels a surge of adrenaline, and smiles once more, though at a loss of vital breath.

"You should've run while you still had the chance."

Blood drips.

"But then again, I would've caught up either way."

The shadow levels his pistol as the withering man collapses to the floor. Gloved fingers grip the attacker's thin arm, refusing to admit defeat. "Thank you." A glint in the phantom's eyes flickers as he watches the sleeve's fabric rip. "Your traps were fun."

The marmoreal echoes a final time.


	2. II

ρ r ε m ι έ r ε

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><p><strong>Sainte-Verre Noir<strong>** Church****, Paris_  
><em>5:05 P.M.**

* * *

><p><em>Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.<em>

A deep voice softly hums along. "Louder."

_Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem mean.  
><em>

"More enthusiasm, Nara."

_Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me.  
><em>

"Yamanaka, _iniquitate_ needs a bit more passion_._"

_Quoniam iniquitatem mean ego cognosco: et peccatum meum contra me est simper.  
><em>

"Good." His hands relax and fall. "That's enough for today."

"God bless you," the white-adorned chorus recites.

"Dismissed."

The choir's instructor grimaces, and brings a pale hand to his temples. His exhaustion only multiplies faster at the sight of its cold reception.

"Your Grace." A man donning a metallic, black suit glides through the church doors and stops before the grand chancel. "Our dear Holy Father requests a private meeting with you this evening." He murmurs to himself in thought. "At the usual spot, if I recall correctly."

"Thank you, Archdeacon Sasuke Uchiha." The bishop steps down from the altar with a large folder of faded music sheets. "What is it that you're wearing?"

"Cotton silk, Archbishop Neji Hyuuga." The man smooths the suit's creases. "I will be heading to the marketplace later this evening to run an errand."

"I see." Neji raises his sleeve and takes a quick glance at his luxury watch. 5:58 P.M. He brings his right forefinger toward the music sheets by his left side and wordlessly runs it across twice. Two minutes left, the gesture indicates.

Sasuke's gaze lingers on the sheets a moment longer before breezing back to Neji's face. "Archbishop Hyuuga, have the rehearsals been going well?"

"Certainly." A nods of approval. "The choir is exceptionally talented, especially the tenor section."

"I heard Nara fit splendidly despite having been transferred here only a week ago." Stalling time was never an entertaining task.

"Yes, though he forgets to apply enthusiasm during the chants, his voice is spectacular." Neji subtly lifts his sleeve once more.

Sasuke clasps his hands in false wonderment at the comment, and then hastily glances at Neji's wrist. 5:59. "As expected of the singers that the Holy Father himself had chosen."

"Mm." Neji searches through his secular mind for any other meaningless words for idle chat that the overlooking security camera's scrutiny would deem appropriate, but fails. Thankfully, Sasuke succeeds.

"Shall we engage in a sanctified moment of silence?" _For only a minute, that is_, Sasuke implies silently.

Neji nevertheless hears the unspoken remark. "We shall."

**6:00 P.M.**

The two men browse through the ceiling's corners, double-checking that each security camera is now completely deactivated, as the new hour has signaled.

"I'll get straight to the point." Sasuke's polite facade fades. "The pope suspects us."

Neji draws a sharp intake of breath, narrowing his eyes. "Which explains the private meeting tonight."

"Presumably. What's the plan?"

Neji steps through the gospel side of the church, brows furrowed. "I'll clear up the suspicion."

"Do you need any assistance?" Sasuke eyes the taller man charily. "Nara has been assigned a tough job tonight, but I'm sure Yamanaka—"

"No," he interjects. "Just a gun."

Sasuke's eyes widen. "You're not going to shoot the _pope_, are you?"

Neji gives him a blank stare, and rolls his papers into a tight cylinder. "Does it make a difference?" His arms fold irritably. "We're fleeing Paris in a few days anyway."

"But the city—"

"Or I can tie him up and throw his body somewhere below the church."

Sasuke exhales. "I'd prefer that."

"Alright then." Neji moves a hand to his pocket and brings out a pack of cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"No thanks. I'm leaving in a bit."

"Oh, right. For that errand of yours." His lighter scorches the nicotine. "Who made the request?"

"Some lazy cardinal. A group of Roman nomads are traveling through town and needs some place to stay." Sasuke exhales exasperatedly. "It's my job as a mere archdeacon to guide them across the religious threshold and into this church."

A pair of slightly parted lips lets out a puff of grey. "Looks like my evening plans will be far more exciting than yours."

"Neji, _please_ hide the body someplace relatively easy to find," Sasuke says. "Remember how your last mission—"

"I'll think about it, Your Excellency."

"_Neji_," Sasuke hisses at the dismissive sarcasm. "Killing the pope is unnecessary. And risky."

"Do you doubt my abilities?"

A sigh. "Of course not." The suited man covers his nose as a balloon of nicotine floats playfully toward his face. "Look, I'm heading out soon. Is there anything else?"

The man doesn't answer immediately, instead reaching over to his robe's hidden pocket. "See for yourself." His outstretched arm holds out a black recorder.

A shuffle of clothing and a click later, the church's walls resonate with sonorous chants of Latin. The two men let themselves momentarily drown in the notes, and listen with patience. After a minute, Sasuke pauses the tape. "The pronunciation is flawless. And the tenor part is nice. I'm surprised our little Nara pulled this one off."

"I'm not too wary about the accents or the harmony." Neji flexes his fingers. "It's the emotion that's the problem. The sentimental aspect of this piece is crucial, and the choir's lacking within this department. This excludes our Nara and Yamanaka, of course. What kind of vocals can we expect from dedicated assassins?" He clicks his tongue in light frustration. "Nevertheless, the other members need help. We might not perfect it in time for the church's event tomorrow."

"And here I thought that you were actually serious when complimenting your choir." Sasuke sighs.

Neji inhales another mouthful of tobacco. "Well, I doubt the lovely cardinals spying us from above would appreciate a mere archbishop insulting the quality of their main source of music and entertainment." He pauses to propel another gust of smoke toward the Uchiha. "Besides, sweet talk might lift some suspicion off us."

Coughing hysterically, Sasuke glares at the inconsiderate bastard. "I highly doubt it. I overheard three patriarchs claiming that they've seen us carrying bludgeoned corpses through the church's dungeons."

"Oh, that's mostly my fault." He puts out his cigarette with his handheld ashtray—which also came from his robe's small pocket.

"_Seriously,_ Neji." Sasuke shoots a grim glare. "The pope actually _believes_ their lies."

The archbishop imposter quietly yawns. "Exaggerations, you mean. You should've just killed them."

Uchiha lets his shoulders hang in defeat. "Murder's not always the solution, _Archbishop Hyuuga_." He fixes his suit's wrinkles again. "I'm leaving. Good luck tonight."

"Not always the _best_ solution, you mean," comes a quick retort. "You too."

"Don't kill him."

The devil lights another cigarette. "We'll see."

* * *

><p><em>{Miserere mei, Deus<em> by Gregorio Allegri}


	3. III

d ε υ _x_ ι έ m ε

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><p><strong>Sainte-Verre Noir<strong>** Church****_  
><em>10:10 A.M.**

* * *

><p>"Where did you hide the body?" an archdeacon whispers frantically.<p>

_"It is an honor to welcome you…"_

"Hm?" comes a calm response.

_"To a morning of love and music… _

"The body," the voice repeats nervously. "The pope's body."

_"We pray our Holy Father will richly bless…"_

A devious smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about, Archdeacon Sasuke."

_"The hymns our choir will sing today…"_

"You didn't actually kill him, did you?"

_"Let us lift high our songs and our voices…"_

"Frankly, I don't remember." An exaggerated sigh. "It occurred so very long ago."

_"As we all join as one in worship and praise…"_

"Neji, you met up with him _last night_."

_"With Archbishop Hyuuga Neji's harmonious choir!"_

"Oh, duty calls. Shouldn't you be attending to your group of nomads, Uchiha?"

"Wait, Neji—"

The music begins.

* * *

><p>Sasuke clucks his tongue with vexation and makes his way back to the transept, where a small assembly of Roman travelers wordlessly waits for his return. He takes a seat by one of them, and sighs tiredly.<p>

A pair of cerulean eyes glances sideways. "Thank you for guiding us all here, Archdeacon."

Slightly taken aback, Sasuke looks to his left and slowly nods. "You're welcome."

"God bless you."

The deacon begins to return the politeness, but a light grumble squeezes into the conversation first.

"Pardon me, Archdeacon," the blonde murmurs.

Sasuke blinks. "The breakfast hour passed just a moment ago. Did you not have time to eat?"

The man shakes his head.

"Did you eat last night?"

Another shake.

"How about the night before?"

Another.

Sasuke narrows his eyes. "You haven't eaten in two days?"

"Three," is the hushed answer. "Archdeacon," he quickly adds.

The dark-haired man stands. "Wait here." He steps toward the church's narthex, exchanges a few words with a man adorned in white and gold, and then returns shortly with two pieces of bread hidden in his robe's sleeves.

"Welcome back, Arch—"

"Eat these subtly." He hands the food over. "And sanitarily."

"Thank…" Stomach grumble. "Thank you, Archdeacon."

"Naruto," a soft voice murmurs from behind. "Is that what I think it is?"

The blonde freezes mid-bite and rotates his head around. Sasuke unconsciously follows suit. A brunette young woman with exotic features and frail shoulders, stares at the two males with a chilling glint of amusement, and curved lips.

"Archdeacon Uchiha Sasuke," she calls, "did you happen to forget to prepare breakfast for the equally unfortunate, starving lady seated directly behind you?"

The female's increasingly arrogant smirk deprives him of the ability to produce a witty retort. He clears his throat, reminding himself that he's a gracious, elegant deacon. "I don't recall ever telling you my full name."

She brushes a few loose strands of burnt auburn from her distinguishing cheekbones and tucks them neatly behind a pierced ear. "I do." Her smug gaze lingers on the man's face for a second more before shifting toward the blonde. "Share."

Sasuke watches with mild disbelief as the hungry lad obeys with not the slightest hesitation, bringing one untouched loaf of wheat toward the woman's outstretched arm. "Yes, Tenten."

A hand cuts the exchange.

"What do you think you're doing, Archdeacon?"

"I vaguely recall passing food to only _one_ Roman," he whispers with a low volume, beginning to notice the hostile glances from other rows, "_Tenten_."

She makes no effort to keep her voice down. "Maybe you should get that memory of yours fixed up then, you damn—"

"The Lord is watching," Sasuke intercepts, scowling at the woman's disrespect.

Tenten pays no heed. "I'm an atheist."

"So am I," he almost replies, but rediscovers his saintly composure. "Then why are you here?"

"You brought me here."

"You know what I mean." He narrows his eyes. "Why did you join—"

"We heard you guys give out free food during flashy events." Her eyes briefly scan across the church's nave. "Is it about time you bring them out?"

Sasuke presses his lips together in irritation. It's this type of woman that never fails to butcher his mood. "Speak for yourself. It doesn't seem like anybody else within this group is as gluttonous as you."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Tenten answers. "They're just either too timid or hungry to admit it. Besides—"

"Kindly lower your voice," a nearby priest murmurs. "The choir's lovely music is—"

"I will if you shut up, _lovely_," the vulgar lady counters with a sweet smile.

"I apologize, Father," Sasuke immediately counters, displaying a sympathetic look. "She's currently…mentally unstable."

"Clearly," the priest remarks bluntly, harrumphs, and whips his head around.

There's an impatient shuffle of clothing. "I don't know about you," the woman directs at Naruto with an opaque glint in her eye, "but I'm gonna get some free food."

Before Sasuke could restrain her, Tenten slips off toward the church's area of crossing, crouching and crawling amidst the dull music solos and snoring parishioners. From afar, she spots a freshly prepared buffet of pastries hidden by the rood screen separating the choir from the rest, and subtly sneaks toward it.

"Strawberry tarts, cinnamon rolls," she murmurs to herself in delight, "and even cheesecake?" Tenten shoves all three into her mouth, stuffs a few more into her rucksack, shakes the bag's contents to fit it all, and accidentally drops a shiny, spherical object in the process.

"Shit." She helplessly watches it fall to the floor, continue its path past the rood screen and roll near the foot of a choir singer. "Don't you _dare_ step on it, you screeching rodent," the woman hisses through her teeth as she mentally aims spears at the vocalist.

_Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam._

Tenten scoffs as she tiptoes toward the choir. "What a lifeless choir."

_Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum, dele iniquitatem mean._

She's able to conceal a few more steps, thanks to the relatively large screen blocking the vision of all seated worshippers. Plus, all vocalists are facing the opposite direction, some even singing with their eyes closed.

_Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me._

With a snicker, Tenten bends down to retrieve the shiny earring from the marmoreal floor. "That was way too easy," she mumbles. Nevertheless, being the slightly paranoid type of woman, she sneaks a quick glance upward just to double-check.

_Quoniam iniquitatem mean ego cognosco: et peccatum meum contra me est simper._

To find the choir's silver-eyed conductor staring right at her.

She blinks.

"Shit."


End file.
